In the End
by Waiting for Calm
Summary: A part of her knew there was no way back, no way out.  But this wasn't the end she'd pictured.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

So it had come down to this. Something inside of her had always known it would, that niggling thought in the back of her mind the moment she realized that she couldn't let Stefan go, vampire or not; the first time she'd seen Katherine's picture and glimpsed the twisted depths to which this story could go; when she understood that she cared enough about Damon to look beyond the people he'd abused and killed—people she knew, people she loved. There was always a part of her that knew she'd gone over the edge, that there was no way back.

She always knew there was no way she'd get out alive.

But she'd never imagined quite how it would end, or if she did, this wasn't what she'd pictured.

The warehouse was too dark at night, the floor dusty from disuse, joints from old machinery bare and easy to trip over even in the uneasy light that came with day. But it was quiet, and with the spell Bonnie had thrown up around its boundaries, it was the safest place in the world for them. That didn't mean it was really safe.

Despite the times each one of the group had talked to her, right from the start and through every battle, every loss, they'd never managed to convince her. They didn't know that, of course. She'd given up trying, mostly, letting them think that they'd won, that they were in this fight together. And you never knew—maybe there could have been a way out, a solution that wouldn't have ended up with the deaths of everyone she loved. That had been a fool's hope, and the deep, twisting ache inside of her had known that from the start, even as she'd buried it under the weight of the love of her protectors.

They'd reached the end now, and sometimes she thought maybe they felt it, too, though they didn't say it. There was only so long they could hide before they would be found—or even if they managed to escape, it would mean a lifetime of running, of hiding in filthy warehouses and empty houses, of stealing moments of life rather than living it. She saw the hopelessness in their eyes, though they still denied it, had looked at her like she was crazy for again bringing up the obvious this afternoon. She smiled sadly at the thought, thinking of her makeshift family, who protected her, no matter what it cost them.

"Elena, don't be ridiculous; we'll find another way." That was Bonnie, flipping through Emily's grimoire and her own meager beginnings, expecting to find an answer to a question that hadn't been faced before, or at least not in over 500 years, long before even Emily was born.

"There is no other way; you know that." Her voice sounded rough, and her throat was dry. She tried swallowing and found she couldn't.

"That's nuts; we're finally out of there, and safe, and you want to give them exactly what they want. That's nuts." Jeremy tried so hard to be the strong one, and he succeeded mostly, but he gave the game away when he muttered, "Don't ask me to lose you, too."

Elena didn't have a response to that, not one that would make him understand, so she just gave him a smile and thought to herself that this was right—by going, she'd be protecting him, looking out for him the way big sisters were supposed to. He'd understand that someday, and he'd grow up, and marry, and have children to teach about the insanity of the world. She'd never do any of that, but she'd long since given up that hope.

Matt was still having trouble with the whole "vampire" concept to begin with, and Caroline's relentless cheer, mixed with Tyler's assurances that werewolves were much simpler, really—no pesky immortality, no blood drinking, just a little supernatural strength and the need to be locked up once a month—didn't seem to be helping. He looked a little shell-shocked, but even he was standing his ground. "No way are we letting you go. Never going to happen."

She shook her head; she knew they felt the end coming, but they still didn't seem to understand. She supposed they couldn't, not really. How do you explain to people you'd grown up with, been alongside through all of the normal teenage rights of passage, that you have some other destiny? Or a destiny at all—normal teenagers didn't have mystical forces ruling their births and deaths. Looking around at the group, Elena smiled wryly. "Teenage normalcy" appeared to be long gone in this clique.

But, still—she'd had a mark on her since the day she'd been born, and she was only now realizing what that meant. It was her responsibility, or else one day soon they would catch up with the group, and everything would be over, anyway. By taking the brothers, the Originals had laid an ultimatum, and it was hers to answer.

That was why, in the dead of night, after assuring them all that she'd do nothing rash, she slipped the sheriff's stolen gun out of their weapons stash, left a note on top of the grimoire, and stole out of the dark warehouse.


	2. Chapter 2

Bonnie was in a full-fledged panic by the time mid-morning came and Caroline and Tyler came back, unharmed but without any news. Elena had taken one of the cars, and they couldn't track her. They couldn't even tell how long she'd been gone or how far ahead she was. Bonnie huffed, pacing back and forth, stopping to read the page in her grimoire yet again, then resuming her pacing. Matt simply stared off into space, at a loss for anything to say or do.

"You would think, what with the whole supernatural senses thing going on, that you might have heard her leave." Jeremy's voice was strained, but he appeared to have taken refuge behind blame and sarcasm. It was easier that way, rather than blaming himself for not realizing that his sister wasn't one to wait for someone to come kill the people she loved.

Tyler rounded on him, stalking with his new predator's grace, unable to control his anger any more today than he could a year ago. "What, you think we just let her go? That we wanted this to happen?" He pushed Jeremy against the wall, getting in his face. Tyler's eyes glowed gold. Jeremy still couldn't get used to that.

"What else am I supposed to think? She goes, you stand a chance of not being sacrificed in this stupid ritual. Maybe you'll even get to go home to your mother. It's a win-win situation for you." It felt good not to back down—foolhardy, but good.

Tyler shoved him again, harder, and Jeremy felt the impact. He pushed back, not that it did anything. He had the ring, though, so he'd be okay. Not for the first time, he wished he'd forced the ring on Elena, but the thought was fleeting. Punching Tyler was much more important at present.

Caroline, of course, was the one to pull them apart and bemoan the "stupid boy need" to fight at a time like this. They ended up on opposite sides of the room, nursing their respective wounds, already healing, and glaring at each other.

They stayed silent, though, and Caroline settled down. Eventually, Jeremy dropped his head into his hands. He didn't look up again.

Bonnie was still pacing, glancing at her watch with an absurd regularity now, so that she looked like she had a strange twitch. "Thirty more minutes," she muttered, reading the spell once again. It wasn't supposed to go down this way—this was too much, and she hated Elena for being so damn noble, for sneaking out and running away where they couldn't get to her, for placing this responsibility squarely on Bonnie's shoulders.

She didn't know if she had this kind of power, but she couldn't let Elena down. Not now, when the last thing she'd said to her best friend was that Elena should stop being so selfish, that they'd given up everything to protect her. To protect Elena, who'd gone to die to save them all. "Twenty more minutes," she said, pacing back and forth across the dusty hallway.

* * *

How Elena knew exactly where to go was a mystery to her—the message had been graphic, but brief, full of screams for her not to listen and quiet words that managed to threaten without becoming coarse or unpleasant. There hadn't been a specific time and place. But she knew, when it came down to it. That was unsettling, to say the least.

Even more unbelievable was how she managed to get there without being caught and dragged away against her will. She supposed, later, that they knew she'd come, knew she was powerless against them, even more so than the others whom they'd so easily defeated. So what was the point of setting a guard? There wasn't a threat they couldn't handle, and they wanted her to come. There was something delicious about a sacrifice walking to the altar of its own free will.

She parked the car two streets over, figuring that she wouldn't need a quick escape, and she'd rather not announce her approach with the roar of the engine. The neighborhood was one of those exclusive, gated communities, anyway, so while she could manage to find a way through on foot, entering by car would have been rather obvious. They still knew she was there. She didn't have any illusions about that.

The house was one of the largest in the neighborhood—of course it was. Vampires never did anything small, it seemed; even the Salvatores lived in a massive old boarding house whose electric bills must have been incredible. Funny how that thought occurred to her now when it was pointless to ask how they could afford it all. She supposed she knew the answer, anyway; the weight of time and the power of compulsion made things surprisingly easy to explain.

The house tried to emulate the Greek style, with impressive columns in the front, but the ridiculously normal door from the porch ruined the image. It was like leaving a Chihuahua to guard the house—sure, it may be loud, but at the end of the day, it wouldn't scare anyone away. There were at least three stories and more windows than she had the patience to count.

Elena was scared. Not by the house, or by the drawn curtains that indicated that vampires—ones without magic rings—were inside, or by the fact that the side door had been left cracked, as if begging thieves to come inside. Maybe they were; easy meals aren't something to turn down, after all.

No, Elena's fear was so deeply grounded that she didn't recognize it anymore, didn't feel the mind-numbing terror that had stripped her away, leaving only her will and a fatigue that ached in every bone of her body. She was so afraid of taking this step, knowing what it meant, but she was also so, so tired. She checked her watch and pushed the door open. It creaked, but that didn't matter now.

* * *

Damon and Stefan Salvatore had become rather used to being among the strongest around, unafraid of most challengers and able to beat just about everybody, achieve just about everything they wanted. Materially, at least, and physically. The emotional side of things had always been a bit harder to handle. They didn't mention that, though.

So when they found themselves helpless and under the power of vampires beyond old, who could push them aside just as easily as they could push humans aside, they didn't take it extremely well. After being pummeled nearly to death—never quite there, as they were useless as bait if they were dead—they stopped fighting, accepting defeat, at least for now. Stefan brooded—because, well, that's what he did—and he reserved his intensity for the moments that mattered. This one didn't, but he thought he might need that strength when the Originals left a gateway open for escape or attack. They hadn't yet, but the bad guys always did, didn't they?

Damon, on the other hand, was cockier than hell, snarky to a fault, trying to get inside the heads of his jailers, rub them the wrong way, get them to react, somehow. All he had left was his attitude, and he was determined that they wouldn't take that from him. The indignity of being chained was eating away at him. He should be able to break through, but he couldn't. That was not acceptable. He'd rather they just hurry his death—that's where this was leading, anyway.

Both brothers were okay with that, as much as anyone could be who had absolutely no desire to die or lose or be exposed as weak and unable to fight back. The group had gotten away. Elena was safe. That was what mattered in all of this.

When she walked into the room, all they could do was stare at her in horror.

* * *

The walk down the hallway had felt like forever and no time at all. Elena had met no one. She'd left the outside door cracked open, as she'd found it, and looking behind her, she could still see a glimpse of sunlight. She could still get away, she thought, and her heart strained for that sunlight. Her breaths came shallow, and her heartbeat was a fierce reminder that she was alive, that she was strong. She held onto that as she moved toward the voices, behind another door, this one closed.

When she turned the handle, she found it was unlocked. God, she wished it had been locked. She walked in quietly, or what seemed quiet to her, though they'd probably heard her the instant she entered the building. She let the door fall shut behind her. The slam echoed in the wide hall, and conversation in the room ceased. There was no turning back now.

Every face turned toward her, most with hunger, or amusement, or predatory triumph—two with a betrayed despair she couldn't bear to witness. She shifted her focus to the man who was clearly in control. He was the center of the group, all of whom were still away across the room. None moved toward her. Just watched.

Her first thought upon seeing Klaus was that he was beautiful. Not in the soulful, powerful way Stefan was beautiful or the penetrating, intense way Damon was beautiful, but something else. It flitted through her mind that she'd never met a vampire that wasn't attractive; it was like a key to the club. But, no, this was different; Klaus was in a class of his own. He was tall; she could tell that even though he remained seated, lounging casually with the air of a king who owns his throne. Very pale, his skin remained young and perfect beneath a sheath of dark blond hair. His fingers delicately grasped a wine glass—filled with blood, she thought—and they had a sort of grace that bespoke gentleness and strength, not murder and pain. That was wrong, that thought—he was beyond evil, she knew that, but looking at him was like looking at a painting of the glory of life preserved beyond death. Something about him was power innate, radiating out to echo in her bones.

His mouth was quirked with amusement; he studied her as she studied him, but when she met his eyes she got a shock that echoed through her, body and soul. His eyes were blue, deeper and clearer than even Damon's, and they looked through her and possessed her without a word or touch. She thought she could lose herself in those eyes and not care.

Elena looked away, frightened of the power of that stare and not willing to be steered from her purpose. She still had her will. She was still alive. He wasn't. He was a monster. She had to remember that.

"So," he said, his voice light and deep and perfect, rolling over her like a soothing balm, "you've come."

"Yes," she said, surprised that she still had a voice and that it was strong, "I've come."

There was a silence that stretched on as she waited for someone to make a move, to try to grab her and take her into custody and as he studied her, peering into every nook and cranny she had until she felt utterly exposed. She fought the urge to look down and make sure she was still clothed.

After another moment, he smiled at a joke she didn't understand and gestured. Two vampires immediately came to attention and closed in on her, one on either side. She didn't jump or run or try to fight them. Of them she wasn't afraid at all.

When they got within three feet of her—which took a very short amount of time, considering how far away she stood in the cavernous room, but, then, they were vampires—they seemed to hit an invisible wall and were blown back, hitting opposite walls with a force that cracked the drywall. They didn't get up. The other vampires jumped back, and Damon and Stefan both made noises that were something between groans and cheers and sighs of relief.

Elena grinned. She knew Bonnie wouldn't let her down. She checked her watch—five more minutes, at least, at most. It was hard to make witchcraft exact, and she didn't know what this spell was doing to Bonnie in the warehouse. Better to make this quick.

Klaus was still smiling. He was the only one in the room who didn't look the least bit surprised. "Impressive," he said. "But it does leave us at a bit of stalemate, my dear. We can't touch you; you can't get your friends and leave. Thoughts?"

Elena pretended to consider. "Well, you could let us all go." He laughed at that. It was like honey and wine and chocolate on a bright summer day. "Or we could do this the hard way." It was only then that she pulled the gun from where it had been tucked in the back of her jeans.


	3. Chapter 3

Klaus merely shifted slightly, looking somewhat disappointed. "My dear, surely you know that even if that—weapon—" he said that word with distaste, as though he felt that guns weren't proper enough for his gentlemanly society—"is loaded with wooden bullets, you can't dispatch us all, and certainly not those of us who are older than any tree on this earth."

"I know," Elena said, and noticed that for the first time, her voice shook, "but I can end this just the same." She took the gun and placed the end on her temple, her finger remaining firm on the trigger. It was cold against her face.

The Salvatores broke their silence at that, a permanent end they could do nothing to heal. "Elena, no! Get out of here, now, while you can. We're not worth this. Nothing is worth this." That was Stefan, broken and watching his worst nightmare unfold before his eyes.

Damon took a different tack. "Elena, we're ready to die for you, and you're willing to let that be for nothing. I never thought I'd see anyone so selfish, so stupid. I thought you were worth something, that you were better than this. Clearly I was wrong." His words had bite, but she was stronger than they were.

She spoke quietly, her eyes never leaving the pensive form of Klaus. It wouldn't do to get distracted. "Shush, just let me handle this."

Klaus' face still shown with amusement—she wondered if he spent most of his time laughing at human folly, repeated over and over again—but she also saw something like respect in his eyes. "Well, then, that's interesting. But do you have the courage to do it? Or is it all a bluff? I've seen many a human threaten suicide—terrible thing—but in the end not have the strength to carry it out."

Elena tightened her grip on the gun, understanding it, ironically, as her lifeline. "I'm strong enough. But you know that."

Elijah stepped forward from the shadows then. She'd noticed him but hadn't focused before. He moved quickly—she had to stop being surprised by that—and before she knew it, he had a stake poised over Stefan's heart. At a quick word, another vampire held one over Damon's.

Still smooth, still maintaining the appearance of effortlessness, Elijah teased, "But what about now? I'll kill them, I swear it, and your little martyr act will be all for nothing. Put the gun down, little girl. You're out of your league here." Klaus said nothing, merely watching. Stefan and Damon were still begging her to run.

She swallowed, her throat drier than dust. She shook her head, hating the words, hating him. "You can kill them. But I'll pull this trigger, and everything you've worked for over the centuries will be gone. They will die, but you will lose. There will be no other chances. I can promise you that."

Elijah glanced up at Klaus, his master—Elena, perversely, loved that Elijah was just a dog with a master—waiting for instructions. Klaus was still looking at her. She looked back steadily. Her heart was racing. She was alive. She was strong.

"Magnificent," Klaus whispered. He stood, towering over his henchmen, over her, even though she still stood a world away. She wondered, idly, how he came to have such height—weren't humans supposed to have grown taller over the years? He must have been a giant when he was alive, if he'd ever been alive. He gestured to the captive brothers, chained to the ground. "I can see why they're taken with you. The vessel has always been beautiful—a nice choice, there—but the spirit is all chance. You've got fire, my dear."

Elena didn't know what to say to that; was she supposed to thank the evil mastermind? But her time was running out. She didn't need to glance at her watch to know that. "Here's the deal. You let Stefan and Damon walk out of here, alive, and unharmed. You swear to me, on your honor, which they tell me is important to you, that you will never hurt them, and that you will leave my family and my friends alone. You swear to me, and I put down the gun. Do we have a deal?"

He considered her. "Do your friends include the werewolf? After all, he's rather a key ingredient to the mix. Everything else I have."

"Yes, Tyler is included. You find another werewolf, and leave him and the rest of the people I love alone. I'm the only part of the mix, as you say, that can't be replaced." She knew that she was condemning other innocents to death, but here, at the end, she couldn't find it in herself to care.

He waited for such long moments that she thought the spell must be wearing off, and she'd have to shoot and leave them all to die, anyway. But then he nodded. "Agreed, as long as they leave, and do not interfere." She nodded in return, the silent finality of it terrifying. She'd made a deal with the devil. What did that make her?

Klaus waved his hand, and Elijah and the other vampire broke through the chains holding the Salvatores back, setting them free.

Elena looked at them then, as they stood and gazed up at her helplessly. Both had tears in their eyes that they didn't bother to wipe away or hide with false male bravado. They seemed at a loss for words. She knew that they didn't want this. "You've risked your lives to save me so many times. It's my turn." she whispered, so low that she could hardly hear herself, but she knew they heard. They both shook their heads, but as they were forced out of the room, they knew they had no choice—for now.

She'd stared at them leaving, then at the door shut behind them, so long that she hadn't noticed Klaus' careful approach. He moved with the grace of a panther, but his eyes were solicitous, even sympathetic. Careful, gentlemanly in his approach, he stopped about five feet away. They all did, coming closer and surrounding her, finally. And at last she was utterly alone, no more friends or lovers to hold her back or protect her. She'd never felt so cold.

"I swear, on my honor, that neither I nor my people will harm the Salvatores or the people you love for as long as they live, as long as they do not seek to interfere with the ritual. I can promise no more than that. My word binds us all. Is yours as strong?" He looked at her with respect, even reverence. In the back of her mind, she wondered at that, but she pushed it aside for the moment.

Elena clenched her hand on the gun for a moment, wanting nothing more than to pull the trigger and beat him, end this once and for all. She was so tired. But she would die for them, not for herself. She was that strong, at least. She took the gun away from her temple at last. Bending down slowly, warily in this circle of predators, she placed it on the ground.

Klaus smiled, so perfect, and waited until she straightened herself up again before holding his hand out to her, for all the world like an eager suitor standing before the woman he loved. "My lady," he said, his voice touched with only a little irony.

Elena took her turn to consider him. He waited, collected and confident. She reached out her hand and placed it in his.

* * *

Elena was surprised at the electricity she felt when she gave her hand to Klaus, as though a jolt had gone through her and a fire had been woken deep inside. It was different than what she felt when she touched Stefan or Damon, as little as she'd liked to admit to herself that she felt something with both. That was love, affection. This—this was destiny.

She thought he felt it, too, and wondered who this man—this vampire, evil undead, she reminded herself—really was, how they were bound together and what he knew. Whether he would give her any answers before he bled her and let her die to achieve his millennia-old agenda.

He led her out of the room, and they were followed by the others, quietly, respectfully, even Elijah, who had looked at her with little more than loathing, as a pawn to be used, at every past encounter. She had the odd sense of being queen of a court, followed by her devoted train. She thought she understood why Katherine had enjoyed this, encouraged it, before she found out the truth and ran. At least Elena already knew enough of the truth to avoid that particular scenario.

Klaus took her outside, where a group of dark-tinted SUVs waited on the opposite side of the house from where she'd come in, ages ago. Only the Originals, or those she assumed were Originals—six more in addition to Klaus himself—followed them out into the sunlight. They began to get into the cars, following some preordained order of who went where, but Elena paused, bringing Klaus to a solicitous halt beside her.

Stefan and Damon were standing across the road, beneath the shade of some trees she couldn't identify. She took a moment to marvel that their rings hadn't been taken in their captivity, that they really had been released. Elena smiled at them, sadly. This was truly the end.

Neither looked willing to go, but neither was stupid enough to rush back into captivity, this time certain to end in death. So they watched and waited. Klaus' smile was somewhat mocking in its triumph, and he released her hand for a moment and stepped forward to the nearest car. He opened the car door for her and gestured her forward. "My dear?"

Elena realized for the first time that she was standing alone. No one was within a few feet of her; no one held her captive or forced her into the car. In a moment of insanity she imagined running, escaping into this blinding sunlight and just—living. But then reality came back to her. The lack of physical force was a nice change, in a way, but as she shook her head at the brothers, she realized it all came to the same. In fact, this was worse: this was her decision, even though in reality, there hadn't been a choice. She turned away from those pleading eyes and climbed into the back seat of the car, sliding over to the other side as Klaus followed her in and shut the door.

Damon and Stefan watched as the caravan of cars drove away. They made no overt attempt to follow, feeling their defeat fully and completely. When Elena had walked out of the house, her hand in Klaus', not carried over his shoulder, not forced, not even compelled, and then torn her eyes from them and _willingly_ gotten into that car with the Originals, they knew that they'd lost her. Elena had officially crossed over to the other side.

The tough pill to swallow was that she'd done it for them—so that they could live an eternity knowing their utter failure. What sort of gift was that? The brothers looked at each other, still unspeaking, but as they nodded to one another, they knew were united in this as they weren't in anything else. They were always united in protecting Elena. And they would be damned if they let it end this way. If they were going down, they would go down fighting.

* * *

Stefan and Damon found Elena's car after a quick survey of the surrounding area. She'd left it unlocked, the keys under the mat. It was lucky it hadn't been stolen, but they supposed she'd known she wouldn't be needing it. They tried not to dwell on that.

In the center console was a cell phone, not one they'd seen before. The battery was near dead, but in the last several hours there had been 28 unanswered calls from the same number. Stefan dialed it.

"Elena?" came Bonnie's frantic voice.

Stefan paused. "It's Stefan, Bonnie," he said softly.

"Oh, God!" Bonnie dissolved into hysterics and appeared to drop the phone in the process. Stefan was trying to get her attention again when another voice came on the line.

"She did it?" Jeremy's voice was cold. Stefan had never heard him sound so detached.

"Yes," he replied.

"And you let her?" Ice mixed with anger.

Stefan glanced at Damon, who was staring resolutely forward as he navigated the car toward a main road. "She didn't give us a choice, Jeremy."

There was a bitter pause. "Yeah. She didn't give us one, either."

"Listen, where are you? We can come straight there. We're—we're not being followed anymore."

As he wrote down Jeremy's instructions, he thought, idly, that it had been a long time since they'd been free. He shook his head. They still weren't.


	4. Chapter 4

Elena knew herself to be a captive, but she was treated as a valued guest. This was Klaus' influence, she knew, as her encounters with Elijah had never led her to feel anything but prey. She was given excellent food, provided plush accommodations, given beautiful clothing to wear. The jewelry alone—most of which she couldn't bring herself to wear—must have cost a fortune.

But there was never a moment when she was left alone, not really. While they were in transit, it was one of the vampires near her—Klaus himself, more often than not, for reasons she couldn't fathom. While she slept or showered or changed, it was one or more of their female servants, humans clearly compelled into absolute obedience. She was grateful for that, though it puzzled her.

Klaus always respected her privacy, though she'd felt his presence more than once as she drifted off to sleep. He had never once tried to compel her or use his physical strength to his advantage. But he clearly had no problems with compelling humans to serve him. Why allow her to keep her will, now that she was in his hands?

She asked him as much when he sat beside her on their longest flight yet—first class, of course, the entire cabin bought out for the eight of them.

His smile was enchanting, as always. "Would you rather I kept you chained or mindless?"

"No," she said, privately wondering if it might be easier to be unaware of what was happening. Whoever said that knowing the end was coming was better than sudden death had clearly never experienced either. "But it would be safer, wouldn't it? How can you guarantee that I won't escape or do…something…to stop the ritual?"

He studied her. "I suppose I can't. It's better this way, though."

She looked at him skeptically and couldn't help softening in response to his quick flash of a grin. "I've lived a long time, Elena. Longer than you can imagine. And, yes, I have all of the powers of my kind, more than most. I could compel any human—and many vampires—to do anything I wanted—live, die, kill. And it's useful, ensuring loyalty, keeping meals quiet…I could compel you to stay with me. Even that lovely necklace you're wearing wouldn't stop me if that's what I wanted. But it grows rather tiresome to be able to do anything, I've found. The important things in life are really better when things are real." He tilted his head, never taking his eyes from hers. "Do you think you can understand that?"

Elena thought back to a time when Damon told her something similar. "I think I can. It's a risky decision, though." She mentally slapped herself. Taunting the bad guy wasn't the smartest idea in the world.

His face darkened for a moment, then smoothed out. "My dear Elena, I trust your word and your knowledge of what will happen if you break it. I trust you." Klaus managed to make it a threat and a caress all at once. He'd mastered that skill, she'd found.

"Did you trust Katherine?" She couldn't help but ask it, even as she braced for the response.

For long moments, he stayed silent, looking out into the plane, into nowhere or the past. Elena was looking out the window again when his soft voice returned. "Katerina was…skilled…at deception, at…making men believed what they wanted to believe." His eyes focused on hers then. She found she couldn't look away. "Yes, I trusted her. I was…mistaken in that, among other things." The corner of his lips rose in a wry smile. "And here we are because of it."

Elena couldn't think of what to say to that. She focused again on the shapeless clouds outside. That side of things hadn't occurred to her. If Katherine hadn't escaped Klaus, turned herself into a vampire, Elena wouldn't be needed for the sacrifice. She could have lived her life. But, then, she never would have met Stefan—come to think of it, she would have died that night at the bridge. Died even younger than she would now, but died knowing that the world was a simple place, where people lived and died and the supernatural was merely a bedtime story. At this moment, she couldn't tell which end she preferred.

Klaus seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts. He reached those beautiful fingers out and gently turned her face back to his. "Elena. It's best not to dwell on what might have been. Believe me, I've lived long enough to know that. We all live; we all die. I suspect that even I will, someday. But you and I—we have a chance for more; we have the chance to fulfill a destiny ages in the making! Think of that, darling; think of what you are, and what you can do!" His eyes lit with fire; they seemed to glow with a passion rarely seen in those who had seen and done it all.

And Elena wanted that fire, wanted to believe his words, that this wasn't just surrender, something dark and desperate designed to achieve something darker. "But you want to kill me!" she managed to say.

Klaus, his hands still caressing her jawline, nodded. "Yes."

She ripped her face away and felt the tears come—again. "You want to bleed me to break a curse that you don't even need to break; you can walk in the day just fine! What good is there in this—what pride or purpose is there in that?" God, she wanted that answer, wanted something to make this inexorable waiting mean _something_.

He merely watched her break down, his face tinged with something like curiosity. After a while, when she'd wiped away her tears and was staring resolutely away again, she heard him murmur, ever so softly, "You don't know everything yet."

* * *

Bonnie and Caroline couldn't seem to stop crying. It was annoying, really. And entirely unhelpful. Not that the boys were any better: Matt and Tyler were talking lowly in the corner, blanket statements like "we'll stop this" audible every now and again, but it couldn't be clearer that they didn't have any ideas and were somewhat relieved that it was over, as much as they cared about Elena. And Jeremy—he was sitting against the wall staring off into a space only he could see. He hadn't spoken since the phone call earlier. Damon found it in himself to feel sorry for the kid, who'd lost the one person in the world who meant most to him.

But, then, so had Damon.

Okay, yes, Damon admitted to himself, as he passed Stefan in their relentless pacing within the shadowy warehouse, Stefan was mildly important. But for the life of him, he didn't think he'd ever get that barnacle off his back. He fully believed that, daunting as it was, he and Stefan would have an eternity to work out their issues.

Elena was different. She was fragile, precious. She was all too easy to break, and she was far too brave for such a vulnerable body. She would die—because she was just that stubborn. And he couldn't live with himself if he let that happen.

The trouble was, he couldn't figure out a way around it.

"We could go back to the house—maybe they left something that would tell us—"

"What? Exactly what their plan is? You think they've left detailed instructions somewhere? Get real." Damon scoffed at Stefan's suggestion. Besides, he'd already thought of that.

"Then what? We're just supposed to sit here and wait for the all clear? She could be dead already, Damon." Stefan's voice broke at that last. He'd had a haunted, deadened look about him ever since they'd left that house.

Damon had seen his brother at his best and his worst over long years of exploring just how bad things could get—before they got even worse. As much as he'd never admit it out loud, Stefan's best was with Elena. His worst appeared to be when he'd lost her. Stefan looked like he would break, truly and irrevocably this time. The part of Damon that hated his brother wanted to see it, to taste that victory. The part that loved him would never let that happen. That girl didn't know the power she held.

"She's not dead," he muttered.

"That's the point, isn't it?" Stefan's voice dripped with the sarcasm he fled to when he was in pain. "We don't know that. We don't know anything."

Damon shoved his brother up against the wall. Stefan didn't even fight back. "We'd know this." He let Stefan go.

"But what we don't know is where she is. We can start with that. Hey, judgey," Damon called over to the corner where Bonnie and Caroline were collapsed together.

The nickname perked her up slightly. Annoyance has a way of doing that. She just looked at him. Stefan watched them, hopeless and despairing.

"You need to do a spell—a locating spell. Find Elena."

"But—she could be anywhere by now. And we don't know what sorts of protections they have around them. Plus, even if we found her, what we would do? What can we do?" Bonnie's tearful objections were many. The frustrating part was that they were all reasonable.

Damon sighed. He ran his hand over his face. "I don't care how you do it. You've done it before; you can do it again. Find her. We'll take it from there."


	5. Chapter 5

Elena hadn't really known what to expect from their destination. From what she'd learned of Klaus, of course it would be opulent, and rich, but she supposed it would be stepping into the headquarters of some mafia boss—perfect housekeeping with just the hint of blood hanging over the image.

But as she sat here, in the glow of a summer sun, sipping a cool raspberry lemonade and reading that book she'd never managed to find the time to read when there were things like school and doppelgangers and increasingly confusing vampire brothers to worry about, she was surprised not to feel the weight she should. She should feel burdened, scared. She should be clawing the walls of this amazing villa, fighting with every breath she had.

Instead, she felt—she felt unbelievably, unspeakably free.

There was nothing left to worry about; there were no more choices, and there was no turning back. She'd done everything she could for the people she loved, and at last the need to protect them was no longer a concern for her. She'd left them all behind, and though she knew they'd hurt, she also knew that they'd live, and someday they'd realize that it was for the best. She missed them, sometimes, late at night when she was alone with her thoughts, when she wondered how Jeremy was doing with yet another loss in his life, whether Stefan blamed himself, whether Damon had really decided she was nothing. But as time went on, she wondered less and less. That part of her life was over now.

Now—she just wanted to enjoy the day, to laugh and just be, until the time came when she wouldn't be anything anymore, when the release would be complete and final. She would have thought that the constant presence of Klaus—the one who freely admitted that he planned to kill her any day now—would have made that harder. Instead, she found that each day the connection she'd felt the moment they met grew stronger, until sometimes it was hard for her to remember what existed outside of him and this moment in time.

She thought he felt it, too—this connection that wasn't love, wasn't longing or anything her mind or heart could recognize. Her soul, though, that was a different story. Whatever this was, it was real, and right. She was where she needed to be, as little sense as that made.

Elena was just finishing her book—finally, though really, the ending was a little too sappy for even her tastes—when Klaus sat down beside her, perfect timing, as always.

"And how are you today, my dear?" he asked, smooth and suave, just touching her hand in a slight caress.

Elena sighed and stretched in her lounge. "A bit disappointed in the book, but otherwise—good. You?"

He smiled, and the sun shined brighter. "Oh, delighted to see you, as always." He studied her. "You've tanned, spending so much time in the sun. It suits you."

She blushed, and his smile grew. She couldn't let him get away with making her blush. "You know," she teased, not stopping to think about it anymore, "you should get into the sun more yourself. Get some color into those cheeks. You're so pale you could be dead."

He laughed, and as she shivered his smile grew pensive. He reached forward and brushed her cheek, just slightly, so that she thought she could have imagined it. "You are so lovely. So much spirit, so much love and hope. Almost like—" he caught himself and shook his head.

Elena wanted so much to ask him who she was like, to break into his thoughts the way he seemed to know hers so effortlessly. She wanted to know him, know everything. But she didn't ask. She never did. It was too easy to just flit in time without focusing on what came before or after.

After another moment, Klaus sighed, somehow unwilling. He stood and held out his hand for her. She took it and stood, feeling more graceful just because he was present. As they walked inside, she asked him where they were going.

"Oh, forgive me, my dear. You have a visitor."

* * *

The world came crashing back when they reached the entryway. She dropped Klaus' hand and took a step back. "Stefan," she breathed.

He stood in the shadows, fidgeting slightly, looking oddly out of place in the grand foyer—strange, she'd always associated him with things that were greater than she'd ever imagined. But here, he looked small. And terrifyingly vulnerable.

"Elena," he said simply, his eyes roaming over her as though checking for every tiny change since the last time he'd seen her. She knew he hadn't missed how comfortable she was beside Klaus, who, of course, was smiling his maddening half-smile while watching them both.

"What—what are you doing here?" she asked. She hated the fear, and anger rose inside her alongside it. She wasn't supposed to feel that anymore.

"I—" he glanced at Klaus. "I just came to see you. To see how you were."

"I'm fine!" That came out much too quickly, but the rising terror was like lightning in her system after so much peace. "Now—go away!" Please, Stefan, she thought, leave while you still can.

Klaus laughed. "Now, darling, that's not very hospitable. I'm sure Mr. Salvatore is just _dying_ to see our home. Show him, why don't you?" And he simply walked away, leaving them there alone, as though he had no care in the world.

Elena stared at the doorway Klaus had strolled through for quite a while before she could drag her eyes back to her boyfriend, who just now seemed the most unwelcome stranger in the world. She thought she should ask him how he'd found her, if anyone else was with him, why he'd followed when she'd made it pretty clear she didn't want him to. She opened her mouth to speak, but she found she could say nothing at all. And in the end, the answers to the questions didn't matter anymore—she wanted to be done with _how_ and _why_ in favor of _when_.

After a few moments, Stefan shrugged. "Is there somewhere—away—we can talk?" _Without being overheard_ went unsaid.

Elena shook her head. "No," she croaked, and cleared her throat. "There's nowhere…far enough. But—we can go out on the patio? It's at least—well, there's fresh air, and—"

"Lead the way." Stress made his voice curt, and she was silent as she led him through the cavernous hallways. The return to the sunlight was surreal, and they stood blinking, awkwardly a few steps apart. Elena couldn't figure out what to do with her hands.

Stefan wandered over to the table where she'd been sitting, her book and sweating lemonade still sitting there innocently. To Elena, their presence seemed like damning evidence of whatever he'd come to convict her of. He held up the book. "You finished it finally?"

Elena shrugged. He put it back on the table. "What are you doing, Elena?" His voice sounded broken.

She avoided his eyes. "What I have to."

Stefan half-smirked. "What you have to? You have to sit here in the sun, waiting to die while everyone who cares about you is losing their minds?"

"We've been through this." Finally she looked at him. "I don't regret the decision I made, Stefan. It was the right thing to do—for so many reasons." She stepped forward, feeling strong. "You can't make me feel bad, Stefan. The only thing I regret is that you didn't recognize a goodbye when you saw it."

He blinked. "A goodbye? Honestly, Elena? A goodbye is when you leave to start a different life somewhere, not when you ride off to die when everyone around you wants you to live. You gave up. You gave up on yourself, on the people who love you, on me. But we're not going to give up on you."

Elena laughed, finding nothing funny. "Why am I the only one to see the truth in this situation? We tried to fight. We failed, pretty spectacularly, I might add, or did you forget the part where my aunt and your ex-girlfriend and half the town ended up dead—because you and I and whoever else decided that _my _life was more important than theirs? There's no other way. You know that; I know that; Klaus hammers that in every free moment—I'm supposed to die, Stefan. It's what I was born for." She took another step forward, until she was so close she could almost touch him. "You're not supposed to die, Stefan. And that's why I need you to leave."

He looked right into her, through her. Her heart skipped. He could always make her heart dance, ever since the moment she'd met him. "I'll leave, Elena, but you're coming with me."

She shook her head, hating the exhaustion that came over her at the same conversation, the same inane words that in the end came to nothing. She brushed by him to rest on her original seat, taking a big sip of lemonade to wet her suddenly dry throat. Elena told herself to relax, as she knew Klaus would never let her go. "Look, Stefan, you probably don't understand this—hell, _I_ don't understand it, but I'm where I need to be. Everything in me is telling me that this is right. And I'm okay."

Stefan bent over her, dark and threatening and so beautiful. "And you never wondered why it's right? You're just going to walk blindly into death—just because of an instinct? It's easy, Elena, not right. I'll leave, for now, but you know that it's not over. It won't ever be over." He drew away and walked out, freely, leaving her breathless.

And, damn it, she believed him. There was no going back, for any of it.

* * *

Stefan walked right out of that villa, no trouble, as though he owned the place. He held his head high when he felt the eyes watching him from the shadows. He didn't stop until he reached the car and climbed quickly into the passenger side. When the villa was several miles away, his façade broke, and he put his head in his hands.

"That bad?" Damon asked.

"It's crawling with both vampires—how old, I can't tell—and humans, compelled, of course. There's no way we're ever getting beyond the front door if they don't let us in. And she's just sitting there, in the middle, reading a book by the pool, utterly oblivious."

"He's compelling her, too?"

"No, she's just lying to herself. It's sick." How blind she was broke his heart almost as much as losing her had. She was a lamb walking to the slaughter, and she was convinced that it was right. "I'd rather she'd been compelled."

"Yeah, but we knew he'd have her under control, one way or another." Stefan looked at his brother. Why was it that Damon was so rational in the face of the impossible? Was he just more comfortable on the edge?

For a few moments, neither brother spoke. Then—"Did she drink it?"

"Yeah," said Stefan.

Damon smirked mirthlessly. "Well, that's something."


	6. Chapter 6

It took Elena half an hour to find Klaus in one of the more isolated rooms of the house. He simply sat, lounging comfortably, clearly waiting for her to find him. She wished, for a moment, that she could surprise him.

She'd stood in the doorway for a minute when he spoke. "Well, dear, did you enjoy your visit?" He did not look at her.

Elena shook her head and wandered in, sitting across from him. She curled herself into the chair. "Not particularly. He doesn't get why I'm doing this."

"Well, he loves you. He doesn't want to lose you, no matter the cost. Of course he doesn't understand." Speaking of life and death was like talking about the weather for Klaus. Elena supposed, actually, that death was fairly commonplace for a vampire who'd lived longer than anyone else in the world. She was grateful, in a way, that she would die before she'd forgotten how to grieve for those she lost. She was grateful, too, that she'd been the one to leave them. She'd never let herself dwell on it, but it was much easier to be the first to die.

"The thing is—I don't understand, either."

He looked at her then. "You know that's not true—you feel the rightness of it, your being here, your part in this."

Elena shook her head. "No, I feel a connection, a sense of destiny, whatever—that's true. But I don't understand it. I don't know _why _this is right."

Klaus looked back at the wall as though the artwork—she suspected it was priceless—had captivated his attention.

"Why don't you tell me?" Elena had hoped she wouldn't have to ask.

For the first time, his voice carried a bit of an edge. "Does it matter? You've been happy; I know it. Can't you just—let it go? Let it happen? It would be easier, my dear."

"Easier, maybe. But not better. Not when I don't have an answer on why it is I have to die. Give me that, at least." It was strange to recall her need to have answers, to understand the world before her. It was as though she was shifting inside of herself, realigning to a remembered strength. All because her past had refused to stay behind. She supposed, wryly, that it had all been too easy. Life wasn't supposed to be easy. Death appeared to follow the same rule. Annoying, really.

Still he stared at the wall, maintaining a silence that she had to break. "I'm not trying to get away. I promised you that. But I deserve to know why, don't you think?"

His half-smile had returned. "Deserve? Such an interesting question. Does anyone deserve to know the truth? Or do we mostly regret it once we know it?"

"Why don't you let me make that decision?"

"Silly girl. I could just compel you to do whatever I want. It would stop your incessant questions."

"You could compel me. But you won't. You want me to be awake when you kill me. It's better that way—more satisfying, isn't it?" And, just then, the depth of his cruelty struck her. He wanted to watch her suffer, watch her bleed, watch the life drain out of her eyes. He wouldn't make it easy, and every moment would be painful.

He laughed hollowly. "More satisfying? Perhaps. Whatever satisfaction there is in this."

"In _what_, Klaus? Tell me."

Klaus sighed, raking his hands through his hair. Even with mussed hair he looked perfect. It occurred to her, suddenly, that perhaps how he looked and who he was weren't identical. "You always were persistent, Maria," he muttered. "And where did it ever get you?" The eyes he turned to her confused stare were bottomless, and filled with more pain than Elena could fathom.

* * *

"Maria?" Elena asked. It wasn't a name she recognized, but she felt it echo through her like a memory so old she'd forgotten losing it.

Klaus stood, turning his back to her and standing in the sunlight that streamed through the windows. "Maria…was the first. She was—" When he turned back to Elena, framed in a halo of light, the tragedy was etched in every line of his face. He looked remarkably old. "Maria was my wife."

Elena gasped. "Your wife?"

He spoke quickly, as though the words, once they came, needed an escape. "She was my everything. She was beautiful, breathtaking in her every movement, every action. When she smiled, the world stood still. And she loved me! She could have had anyone, I'm sure, but she chose me, a foreigner, a stranger just passing through. I was human once, though I sometimes forget it. I've spent so long as a demon compared to such a short time as a man. I—we were young and in love, and that's all that really mattered." He put his hands over his eyes and sank into a chair. "Or it's all that should have mattered. But…life was hard, in a way that I suspect you can't even imagine. We made do; we survived, but she—she started fading. I never knew what was wrong with her, but it became pretty clear that I was going to lose her."

"I—I'm sorry," Elena said, feeling the inadequacy of the words. It didn't matter, though; Klaus continued as though he hadn't heard her.

His smile was real, without that mocking twist that usually turned up the corner. "She just kept fighting, refusing to give up, refusing to let one moment be wasted. She was just—she was magnificent." The smile twisted. "But I couldn't let her go. I don't regret it. I'd make the same decision today."

"What did you do?" Elena's voice was small. Somehow, she already knew.

"What I had to." There was a paused tainted by a sudden harshness, as of death. "I arranged it so that I would see her again, and I made such arrangements as were necessary to ensure that whenever she came back to life, I would be there to be with her."

When he looked into her eyes, all she saw was ice. He replied to her unspoken question. "Yes," he said, "I created the doppelganger, and because of it, I became the first vampire to walk the earth. All for love. A fool to my last breath." Cold and bitterness were all he projected now.

"But—how?" Elena asked.

"Magic. Rather darker magic than you've seen before, true, but magic just the same."

"Why—"

"Why didn't I just turn her as well? I planned to, of course, but the shaman who brokered the deal, so to speak, had his conditions. That was one of them. Believe me, it wasn't my choice. But I'd see her again, and if I had eternity, I could wait. I'd always wait for her.

"I remember coming home that day, fresh off my first kill, exhilarated with the power running through me. It's one of the things I wish I could forget—the look on her face when she realized what I'd done. What I'd done for her, for us." He paused. "She ran from me. It took every last bit of her energy to do it, and I caught her easily, but she kept running, even after I had her in my arms. She withdrew from me. I never found her again."

After a while, Elena found words. "But the doppelganger is real. Why couldn't you find her?"

His look was bleak. "You're not Maria, Elena. Neither was Katherine. There's a spark, and sometimes—sometimes I see her in you. More than in Katherine, I think; Katherine had her fire, but you have more. There's a memory, and not just in the fact that every move you make is a mirror of hers. Sometimes I can pretend. But the truth is, you're not her, and in that, she had her final revenge."

"Revenge?" Elena croaked.

"For my fear, my selfishness, my lack of faith. For dooming her just as surely as I'd damned myself. I didn't know then, but I found out what she'd done in time." He laughed bitterly. "All I had was time."

Elena just watched him, waiting for him to continue.

"She went to the shaman, who, it turned out, had yet another trick up his sleeve. I'd intended for her to come back, to live again as who she was, who I'd loved. But she tore her soul from her body, from the curse I'd placed on her, so that she truly died, and it was just her shell that came back. A different person, staring out of those same beautiful eyes. Your eyes, as it happens. But that wasn't enough—no, she had to bind me, and all that came after me."

"The sun and the moon curse?"

"Of course. With her own blood the curse was sealed, binding the vampires to the dark and the werewolves to the moon, though both were so new that the world hardly knew them. But she knew me enough to see the danger. She bound me, the first, so that my power was diminished. I could hunt—I could kill—but I was trapped. She trapped me. So at my moment of power, when I was full of the ability to do anything, I lost both her and half my strength. And, as if that weren't enough, the curse could only be broken with her blood, meaning that I had to wait for the doppelganger, and I had to look into the eyes of the woman I loved while I killed her."

The silence stretched between them. Elena tried to think of something to say, something that wouldn't sound foolish or inadequate or as though she was trying to comfort the monster who intended to sacrifice her. The only thing that came to her mind was a profound sense of loss.

This creature sitting before her, this cultivated image of beauty and class and perfect murder, had once been a man—a man who had loved a woman beyond the grave and the restraints of life and time. He doomed himself—and how many others?—to avoid a loss that, ultimately, had been unavoidable. He'd gambled it all on a woman with a mind and heart of her own, who wasn't willing to let him win. And letting him win was precisely what Maria's picture image was doing, Elena realized, feeling the shame of that, along with an acute awareness of what she'd given up—everything that Maria had fought to save.

"What, darling? No clever words, no more persistent questions? Surely I haven't managed to shock you into silence! I didn't think such a thing was possible." His voice was jovial, but Elena heard the lie.

"I'm just thinking. You loved her so much—I believe you there—but you're willing to let her first sacrifice go to waste."

"Ah, so I should let you live and resign myself to living a half-life? I can see your point. I've managed to circumvent the sun prohibition, and, being the oldest, I've got something of an edge in strength over even the other Originals. I don't need to break the curse; you've said so before." He smiled, and it was more terrible than anything she'd ever seen. He wasn't remotely attractive anymore.

He stood and leaned over her. In his shadow, she felt small. She closed her eyes to that smile. "No, Elena, my brave Elena, so willing to die for the people you love, you will die tonight. I will bleed you and finally—finally!—break the curse that woman placed over me. I will conquer her, and you, and anyone and everything in the world I wish to. And it will finally be over. For everyone."

Elena opened her eyes and looked up at his figure, looming over her. "Tonight?"

His careful, courteous facade slid back into place. "Tomorrow, really. Dawn. A fitting time for both an end and a beginning." He offered her his hand, and she could think of nothing to do but take it and let him help her to her feet. "I suggest you get some sleep, my dear. Time is running out, and we all like to look our best for the big moments in life."

He began to walk out, leaving her standing there, helpless and trembling. At the door, he turned. "Really, Elena, your role in this is something wonderful. You're helping to break some of the most powerful magic the world has ever seen. You and I—together—will bring the world to its knees. You were born for great things, and I'm honored to be here with you at the end."

He bowed to her, so solemnly that she could not be sure whether he was mocking her or simply insane. And then he left her, cold and terrified and utterly alone.


	7. Chapter 7

Stefan and Damon Salvatore had once, long ago, made the decision to die. Trapped in a limbo between the end of their human lives and the start of their vampire days, they had decided that it was better to leave the earth than to return as the walking dead. For different reasons—Damon had not wanted to live without the woman he loved. For him it was simple; nothing in life had meant more to him than she had, and without her, the emptiness consumed him. Stefan was more conflicted, both about Katherine and about life; he hadn't chosen any of this, after all. In the end, he thought it would be better to die than to be a monster.

But monsters they both became, in varying degrees and for varying reasons, living each day with a hunger that threatened to destroy them. Sometimes they thought it had already burned them from the inside out. Over the years, they had found a sort of peace in the routine of pain and death, sometimes managing to stop themselves from killing, sometimes even managing to make a semblance of lives among the people they instinctively hunted. But, always, they had to move on; they were always reminded that they were monsters, not redeemable and certainly never men.

It wasn't until they met Elena that they found a way to feel alive, to feel human for stolen moments, even if that was a lie. The irony of it all wasn't lost to them. There they were—two brothers torn apart by love of the same woman, dead and undead because of her, unable to truly love anyone because of the secret they carried and the hate and bitterness they bore each other and most particularly her.

And it was this woman's doppelganger—her mirror image, down to the long lashes framing her eyes and the tone of her voice—that made them feel alive once again. Both of them, again in love with the same woman, who just happened to have the same face, even live in the same town, as the first. Fate had a sense of humor, at least.

Love had damned them, and even though they'd sworn off of it, here they were at the brink of death again. Love was forcing them once again to acts of heroism and, really, stupidity. Because they knew it was hopeless. What could they do against hordes of humans, compelled to die for their vampire masters—against those masters, both fairly standard vampires and the virtually unkillable Originals? There wasn't enough ash and enchanted metal in the world to break through the ranks and rescue the fair maiden, even if everything went perfectly and they had the strength to prevail. They didn't, and they wouldn't. They knew that.

But as the brothers got into position at the base of the hill in the darkness before dawn, feeling the heat of coming battle sharpen their senses and stir their blood, they were united in their objective. They'd lived long enough, if it came to that. If they were going to die, they'd do it together, as they had the first time. And they weren't beaten yet. They had a few surprises left in store.

* * *

Elena was—to put it mildly—in a state of panic. She thought she'd wanted to know the history, the reason for it all, but as too often happens, the truth was worse than the fiction. Elena was the doppelganger of a woman who had died rather than giving in to the darkness that had consumed the man she loved, and now Elena was set to die to undo the power of that woman's sacrifice.

She paced the fine room she'd been given, where she was supposed to be resting up for her big death scene, wondering how it was she always found herself in these situations. She did what she thought was right, but somehow things were always worse than they seemed. Elena had had the best of intentions; aside from her own general exhaustion with the constant battle, she'd given herself over to save the people she loved. Why was that wrong? They would have died eventually, and she would have still been standing here. She firmly believed that.

And something in her had stirred to life the first time she'd set eyes on Klaus. Was that Maria, the memory of that woman looking upon the vestiges of the man she'd once loved? Elena could swear that it wasn't; never once had she felt love for Klaus. He was beautiful, beyond words, and though she could admire him endlessly, she'd never desired him. Rather, it was a sense of recognition, of connection—of feeling that she was, in fact, in the right place at the right time.

Elena latched onto that sense of rightness. If she was meant to be here, then there was something that she could do. She could stop this, though she didn't kid herself that she'd live to see the results. All she needed was to figure out how to stop Klaus from breaking the curse. A million ideas flashed through her mind, each more unlikely than the last. She couldn't escape, and she had no power against Klaus, nothing but her meager strength and quick mind. But it had to be within her power, or else everything would be lost, in any case. She had to try.

Elena felt her heart beat in her chest, so powerful, something she'd taken for granted for far too long. She shook off the last vestiges of the part of her that had accepted her fate. Elena Gilbert was strong. She was not one to go quietly.

It was strange, she thought, as she slipped into the dress she was to wear for the ceremony, feeling the softness of the silk caress her skin, that it was the end that made her feel truly alive. Her greatest moments had come from her willingness to die rather than her determination to live. She only hoped that it wasn't too late. She only hoped that she could find a way to stop what she'd put in motion.

When Klaus knocked on her door, Elena was ready. She stepped forward and looked the demon in the eye.

* * *

For a moment, Klaus appeared to have been struck speechless. He stared at her, looking her up and down, his eyes coming to rest upon hers, which stared resolutely, and she hoped fearlessly, back into his. She would not be meek, not again.

After a moment, he cleared his throat. "You look lovely, my dear." And it was true—the black silk framed her perfectly, and she moved with a grace normally beyond her. She couldn't see how the fire in her eyes lit her entire person, so that she appeared to glow from the inside.

"Thank you," she said, her words dripping with carefully controlled disdain. "Am I an adequate substitute for your Maria? I wouldn't want to spoil the mirage."

Klaus shook his head, slowly. "Substitute? In the ritual, yes, you'll do. But right now? No, dear. You're burning…but the fire is all your own." His voice purred, seeking to sooth her. She refused to let it wash over her. After another moment of scrutiny, Klaus held out his hand, courteously, as always. "Shall we?"

Inwardly, she shuddered. But she was stronger than he was, and she felt like she'd gone to hell and back to remember it. Outwardly, she took his hand, as she always did, proud of her dry palms and steady grip. "Yes," she said icily, "if we must, we shall."

He led her out of the house with measured steps, never too fast for her heeled gait, never slow enough to let her take in her surroundings, still hazy in the predawn. As they walked, she had the sense of a gathering community, as though with each step forward they were joined by yet another member of their court, yet another person or vampire waiting to watch her die, waiting to greet the dawn honestly, for the first time. No one spoke, the only sounds the rustle of clothing and her heels clacking hollowly along the stone path.

Eventually they climbed a hill along a lazy road, spiraling upward with those same measured steps in the same stifling hush. When they reached the top, she had the sense of the crowd covering every side of the hill, surrounding them, watching and waiting and locking her in to a fate she'd been born to and, finally, chosen. The hill was topped by a simple altar: white stone, gray in the dark, a single knife lying on its surface. A nearby bonfire lit the hilltop; the gathering must be visible for miles, though she hadn't seen it on the way.

It took Elena a moment before she saw the figure slumped at the base of the altar, bound and stripped, naked but so dirty it was hard to tell where the ground ended and his skin began. She thought he'd been beaten into unconsciousness and that it must be a mercy to meet the end so blindly. This was the werewolf, then, the one she'd brought to this point because she'd refused to give up Tyler. She wondered if, after she died, she'd be able to feel guilt for that. At the moment, all she had was her resolve. One more death—or even several—would be worth it to stop the monster from coming to power.

Elena looked around, trying to find the vampire ingredient to the mix. Ah, there, on the other side of the altar—bound, also, but staring up at her with something akin to awe. Elijah was awake but not struggling. He sat carelessly, leaning against the side of the altar, simply waiting for the end. Surprised, Elena looked to Klaus. He smiled his half-smile. "You didn't think I'd spill Original blood? He thought to betray me once, and he pays for it now. But he's not unwilling. The end justifies the sacrifice."

"Then why tie him up?"

Klaus laughed. "Oh, you never know. Sometimes when someone comes to the end, they decide to fight, even if they'd once decided to die. It's foolish, and pointless, but it's much less hassle to just prevent the trouble in the first place, don't you agree?" His eyes were a warning in the flickering firelight.

So he knew. "Where are my chains, then?" Elena worked to keep her voice sardonic, uncaring.

He laughed again. "Oh, of everyone here, I think you're the least likely to be able to make trouble. And an escape attempt might be rather amusing. I'm sure your faithful lovers are out there somewhere, waiting for your signal to charge in and save the day. It's comical, really, don't you think?"

"If they're out there, it's news to me." Elena looked him straight in the eyes so that he could see the truth of her words. "I came here intending to die, and I don't expect anything else."

He paused again, narrowing his eyes as he studied her. Finally, he spoke again. "You know, I almost wish we'd had more time together. I would have liked to puzzle you out. You're truly one of a kind, my dear, aside from the obvious."

Elena didn't have a response to that, but Klaus didn't seem to expect one. He motioned to someone beyond the reach of her vision. When that person stepped into the firelight, she couldn't help but gasp. The man was a stranger to her, but she had a nagging thought that he was absolutely familiar. Dressed in scraps, looking as though he hadn't eaten in recent memory, he stood silently, waiting for direction, she supposed. His face was sunken, and his eyes and mouth were so deeply set that she felt she looked at the gaping holes of a skull long since dead. Elena had never seen him before, but she knew him, she was sure.

She looked at Klaus. "My shaman," he said, not bothering with names. "Here to finish the curse he started."

"He's the same—"

"Yes, the original shaman, my ally and my enemy. I bound him to me; though he died long ago, he cannot rest until this matter is finally settled. I believe he's looked forward to this day as much as I have."

Elena stared, trying hard not to be sick, but also curious at the feeling that was stealing over her, a surreal sense of duality between the scene before her and another taking shape just out of reach of her senses.

Klaus looked at her for another moment, clearly waiting. "Well?" he said at last.

Struggling to appear unperturbed at her situation and this sense of something more taking hold of her, Elena couldn't think of what he wanted. "Well what?" she asked.

Klaus sighed. "No final words? Nothing to say to the world before you leave it? We've got time for you to say goodbye, my dear, if you need to."

It was Klaus' peculiar brand of kindness to offer her the chance to bid farewell to the people—the world—she'd in reality left behind weeks ago. She supposed that if Stefan and Damon were truly out there, she could try, again, to convince them not to interfere, that this was her battle to fight. But in this moment, she felt that if fighting were their choice, she'd leave them to it. After all, she'd made her choice, and somehow, she would find a way to see it through.

So Elena turned back to Klaus and said, "Thank you for the opportunity. But I've said my goodbyes to the people I love, and you and I don't need farewells. We each have our part to play."

"So we do," Klaus acknowledged. He touched her shoulder, briefly, a caress she thought was for her alone. Then he turned and motioned to the shaman, who began to speak in a language unknown to Elena, but like the shaman himself, entirely familiar.

With each word the shaman spoke, though each was unintelligible, Elena's reality split further. In front of her stood Klaus, focused upon the shaman and almost preening with his impending ascension. But behind him emerged figures, at first shadows and mist but then increasingly real, standing on the hilltop as though they'd always been there.

The first figure Elena recognized was Klaus himself, though not as he was today, standing so tall and confident, perfectly poised. No, this man—for she saw he truly was a man, or only just changed—was deeply handsome but clearly vulnerable, imperfect, with a heart not yet despairing and destroyed. Looking at the two, standing next to each other but oblivious of the other's presence, Elena thought the man was infinitely more attractive than the monster. The first Klaus felt, and loved, whereas the second had long ago lost himself in his own emptiness and greed. With a pang, Elena thought of the Salvatore brothers—one who worked so hard to retain his humanity, the other who fought so hard against the pain it caused him. She prayed that neither would end up like Klaus, cold and perfect and empty.

The other figure stood a little ways away and like Elena, appeared to see the duality of the scene—the two Klauses, both captivated by the shaman's monotone, and the twins, one vibrant and strong, one pale and drawn, staring at one another across impossible reaches of time. Maria appeared shocked to see Elena, but Elena had long since accepted the reality of the doppelganger curse. A tilt of the head, a look around, and a long measured glance at what had become of her husband were all that it took for Maria to grasp the situation. Tears began pouring down her cheeks, and she visibly reeled.

As Elena watched, Maria's tears changed from clear tracks of salt to the vivid red of blood. Elena shook her head, looking wildly around, but neither Klaus nor the shaman seemed to see Maria dying before them. Elena and Maria were caught in a moment out of time, and all Elena could do was watch in horror while Maria's lifeblood flowed down her cheeks to splash in a pool at Klaus' feet. Everything seemed colored by blood; it stained them all, though no one else could see it.

Elena felt her own salt tears falling free as the other figures faded, leaving her with only the present and a desperate wish to change the past. The blood-stained image of Maria stayed with her, though it gave her no answers. She was left on a lonely hilltop surrounded by enemies, with only the certainty of imminent death to cling to.

At that moment the first explosion rang out, and the world erupted in fire.


	8. Chapter 8

It had been a long night for the Salvatore brothers, out in the cold and the dark. They'd laid their traps, carefully and silently, avoiding the guards they could and dispatching those whose notice they couldn't escape. None of the Originals were out yet; they were too important for guard duty. Any other vampire they could fight, especially with the element of surprise, but it was crucial to remain below the radar until the last moment. The attack had to be timed perfectly for maximum impact. It was their only chance.

They lurked in the shadows—gracefully, of course; long experience had taught them the finer points of observing with elegance. They watched as the werewolf and—to their shock—Elijah were dragged up the hill and as the crowd gathered and the bonfire grew so that it lit the entire hilltop, proclaiming the dominance of Klaus and the Originals to anyone who could see.

When Elena came, looking cool and confident, her back ramrod straight and her head held high, they caught a glimpse of the glow that lit her entire being. Though Klaus held her hand in his—what gave him that right? She was theirs—she seemed alive in a way they'd never seen. God, she was beautiful. She was Katherine's mirror image, but Elena was—to use Klaus' word—magnificent. They both sighed, rolled their eyes at each other, and then got into position.

Even with their enhanced hearing, they couldn't hear the ritual from the base of the hill, but they could see the figures standing tall on the hilltop, first talking and then watching as a small, emaciated man began chanting. That was their cue; no time like the present. Damon lit the fuse while Stefan watched Elena intently. When her tears began pouring down her cheeks, he realized that what she was doing had finally hit her. But there was no way out now; he couldn't protect her from reality. He only hoped he could save her life.

When the first bomb went off, the hill erupted in flame, circling around the base and enclosing most of the watchers. Chaos reigned as the calmly triumphant faced the unexpected threat. Bodies caught on fire, and it became immediately obvious which were human and which were vampire. Both died in droves. At that moment, however, not even Stefan could bring himself to care. The only human who mattered was standing at the apex of the hill, next to a wildly gesturing Klaus and a still calmly intonating shaman. She still had tears in her eyes, reflecting off of the flames.

The brothers had been smart enough to lock themselves inside of the circle of fire, and in the chaos, no one realized that they were the threat. This suited them, and moving in unison, they set off the next explosion, and the next, with each circle of flame moving closer to the hilltop, taking out as many of their opponents as they could along the way. The battle was fierce, and sooner than they would have liked, the Originals recognized them. With a glance at one another, bleeding and damaged but not yet broken, they readied their final weapon. They only hoped it would be enough.

* * *

Elena watched the battle unfold before her, the smoke stinging her eyes and the fire making the air hot and stifling but lighting the world almost as if the dawn had already arrived. But she felt strangely removed from the screams of horrible death. Elena was left hollow from the vision of her predecessor, unable to feel the tears drying on her cheeks. She watched Klaus order his troops as if from a distance, not hearing the words, not really caring what he said. None of it mattered, for the knife still shown on the altar, and the three sacrifices still waited for the shaman to speak the words that would lead them to their deaths. The battle belonged to some other world. Soon enough, Klaus returned to this one, satisfied that the tide was turning, the opponents targeted. It was only a matter of time until his victory in that war as well as this.

He watched her, looking for something—hope, perhaps, or fear for those who fought to get to her. She merely looked back, steadily, without emotion, waiting. There was simply nothing more to say.

Frowning, he turned back to the shaman, who had stopped his litany of strange words and now held out the moonstone—that tiny stone with immeasurable power. Klaus took it and strode confidently over to the altar, placing it carefully in the center. In the light from the fire, the elements in the white stone appeared to leap and dance. Perhaps they really did in the magic rising in the air and finally stirring Elena's blood and consciousness. She breathed again, and her breath hitched when Klaus took up the dagger instead.

The werewolf went first, and brutally, his blood spilling over the flawlessly white altar, staining the moonstone and the altar and everything Elena could see. As Klaus let the body fall to the earth, removing the knife from where it was buried deep in the man's chest, he again looked at her. His usually perfect suit was stained brown, and his face was splashed with flecks of blood. He grinned, and she saw the monster emerging from the depths of his eyes. She looked at him, unblinking, holding to the fire that had brought her to this moment, feeling the real flames fan her own intent. She would not be afraid, not of him.

The grin faded, but the beastliness remained. Klaus turned away and took up Elijah, who still wasn't resisting, despite Klaus' predictions. This time, he brought the bloodied knife to the victim's throat. With one stroke, Klaus neatly sliced the head off, spraying the blood across the altar. When Elijah's blood touched the werewolf's atop the moonstone, the stone began to glow in earnest, appearing to absorb the mixing blood.

Klaus dropped the lifeless body of his former comrade to the ground beside the werewolf's and turned to Elena. She hardly recognized him. The demon within him gloried in the bloodshed, and the hand he extended to her had lost every vestige of the genteel. When she looked into his eyes, the connection between them had vanished as well. No longer were they playing at friends; now they were predator and prey.

But there was freedom in that, and opportunity. Looking at the blood-soaked altar, Elena's mind and heart were entirely her own, and at last the whole of her understood. She knew what she had to do, here at the end.

Elena stepped forward, out of her heels, feeling on her bare feet the tangible reality of the tickling grass and then the surreal touch of the sodden earth as she stepped into the area wet with the blood of two sacrifices. She extended her hand to Klaus for the last time, fully prepared to be the third.

Stefan pushed her to the side as he broke through the line. Knocked to the ground, Elena had a quick glimpse of Damon fighting the last of the Originals himself, holding something that looked suspiciously like a sword, before she looked back to Stefan. He'd headed straight for Klaus, a familiar dagger in his hand.

Elena barely had time to cry out before Klaus, with a careless laugh, drove his free hand into Stefan's chest, emerging with a bloody heart. He threw it to the side as Stefan dropped to the earth, finally and truly dead.

And just like that the world ended.

* * *

Unfortunately, wanting the world to end didn't make it so. Elena couldn't tear her eyes away from the lifeless body of the one man she'd completely and truly loved. A thousand screams erupted inside of her, but none of them made it to the air. She couldn't breathe. She didn't want to.

Klaus stepped forward, dragging her to her feet. She noticed, dully, that his hand was slippery with Stefan's blood. "Oh, I'm sorry, my dear, but we did have a deal," he said, laughing as he brought her to the altar and positioned her so that he could drain her blood onto the moonstone and complete the ritual the shaman's words had begun.

She didn't struggle. Standing there, looking at the carnage around her, dimly aware of Damon's screams as he still fought to get to the hilltop, she knew, again, what she had to do. At least she'd see Stefan soon. There was comfort in that. Not much, but it would do.

Elena looked at Klaus, at the dripping knife in his hand, at his smile and the emptiness in his eyes. She kept looking when he slid the knife between her ribs.

The pain should have been unbearable—she remembered it being terrible, in fact—but strangely, she had no problem bearing it. It was almost welcome, now. Elena touched the hilt of the knife and felt herself weakening, felt her life's blood dripping onto the altar beneath her. She heard an echo and felt a release like a breeze from that altar, but that didn't matter. The ritual wasn't important.

All that mattered was this knife, and Klaus, whose triumphant attention was focused on whatever was happening with the ritual. He didn't see her when she ripped the knife from her body, tearing her flesh even more. He didn't look until she turned that bloody blade on him, stabbing his heart with the blood of all three victims.

When he turned, startled, Elena had the victory of seeing the life drain from his eyes, and his horror rise at being beaten just at his moment of triumph. As he fell, he whispered, "Maria?" and Elena didn't even care that he'd gotten the name wrong. This was Maria's triumph as much as hers.

Elena lost the feeling in her body, draped now over that blood-soaked altar, above the carnage around her but, ultimately, the final piece of the picture. She didn't see the Originals fall to the ground before Damon's blade or the moonstone's explosion into a sparkling dust that covered everything. She didn't see the vampires and humans left alive take flight as the sun touched the horizon and they saw the destruction of their leader and final hope.

Unaware of anything but the rising sun before her and the knowledge that it was really over, now and for all, Elena closed her eyes and, finally, let go.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I want to take a moment to thank everyone who's read this story. It's been a good experience for me, and I hope you've enjoyed it.

* * *

Elena didn't want to open her eyes. Something inside her told her that if she did, everything would change. All the pain would come rushing back, and she'd lose this glorious feeling of being outside of the world, beyond it where nothing more could hurt her, where no one she loved could be hurt.

But, as seemed to happen far too often, the world did not bend to her wishes. It pressed her into greater consciousness, such that she lost all hope of falling back into oblivion. She opened her eyes. Damon's blue orbs looked back into hers.

"Thank God," he breathed. She felt him caress her cheek, far more familiarly than he ever had before.

"Damon?" she asked, not really knowing the question. Her voice came out small, and weak. She felt weak. She tried to push herself up from whatever surface she was lying upon, but he pushed her back.

"Careful," he said. "You've been through a lot. Better to rest."

It was real, then, all of it, not some crazy nightmare from which she would wake up safe and sound in her own bed. She thought she was in a bed, though—a hotel room, a quick look around confirmed. She felt her stomach. The pain was gone. So was the wound.

She should be dead. "What—" she paused. Damon was a vampire. Clearly he'd healed her before she actually died. No need to ask that. Instead: "Stefan?"

Damon looked away, trying, as always, to hide the pain. "Yeah. He didn't make it."

Elena closed her eyes again. "I didn't want this."

"I know." Damon's voice wasn't harsh. It didn't blame her. He didn't blame her. Elena clung to that, in the midst of this ache that just now seemed all-consuming.

But, still, it had to be said: "I'm sorry." She was, for all of it, really. She was sorry for Damon, who had lost his other half. She was sorry for herself, for being the one to survive when it should have been her time to die, not his. She was sorry for falling in love with Stefan and not letting him go, not until they were in it so deep that when she had tried to leave—for the good of them all—he was the one who couldn't let her go. She was sorry that, ultimately, she didn't regret any moment she'd spent with him. It made the emptiness he'd left behind all the more bleak.

"It was his choice, Elena. He was willing to die for you. We both were. He did." Damon paused for a moment, stroking her face again. "Don't be sorry, Elena. Be grateful."

Grateful? Elena supposed he was right—being loved so deeply that not one, but two men are willing to die for you is a rare gift. But it was strange to think about living when she'd resolved to die. How do you look to a future you never intended to have? It was like being born again, without a clean slate to start from.

That conversation was one she wasn't ready to have, if only because Damon was the one person who might understand what she was feeling. She wasn't ready to be understood. So she asked, "Klaus?"

Damon smirked, the grin only a little twisted with grief. "Dead. That one was all yours. You had us fooled there, even at the end. I'm not sure I've ever been prouder than when you stuck that knife in his heart and made the bastard fall at your feet. Pure poetry." He looked at her with that awe that had always made her more than a little uncomfortable, as though she were the most precious thing in the world. She always used to look away at times like this, and hide behind talk of less dangerous subjects.

Why should she now, though? There was no Stefan to betray, no reason to think about anything but this moment. And with everything that had happened in the past few hours—or was it days? She honestly wasn't sure—she couldn't think of anything to do but look back steadily at the one person left in the world who wouldn't give up on her, even when she wanted him to.

After a moment, he shook his head, seeming to come back to himself. "The rest of them—the Originals—they're dead, too." He paused and grinned for just a moment. "They were mine."

"How did you manage that?"

"Bonnie figured it out, with a couple of others. They set a spell on the ash, so that it would bind to the Originals' flesh rather than to metal. We put it in a bomb, and when it exploded, everything was covered—it actually took out all but two of the Originals and weakened the last two. Then it was just a matter of killing them. I beheaded them all, just to be sure. Pretty simple, in the end."

Elena thought for a moment; nothing seemed simple to her. "I guess. The ritual?"

"Ah, yes." Damon stood and opened the drapes, letting in the light of day. Elena blinked in the sudden harshness. How did the sun manage to shine when all she felt was darkness? "We can now walk in the day, no rings required. Thanks for that."

"You're welcome." The words seemed inadequate to cover anything.

"So you can walk in the day, too, you know. It's not just me." His voice sounded hesitant, unsure, and he walked over to the mini fridge, his back to her.

Elena was confused. "Why wouldn't I be able to walk in the day?"

Damon closed the fridge and walked back to her, a bag of donor's blood in his hand. "Because you're dead, Elena. And not dead."

He sat beside her, eyes on hers. His hand found hers as well.

"What? I'm not—" But it made sense. She'd been so sure that she'd died on that altar. "Oh my God," she whispered.

"Yeah. It was my idea, I'll admit that, but Stefan went along with it. He thought that the blood might heal you if we could stop you from being killed; I thought it would turn you if you were. Covered both options, though you had me worried when you took so long to wake up."

"But I didn't drink any blood." That seemed to be a crucial point.

"Yes, you did. Stefan dosed you with it when he visited you—by the pool, he said. That was why he came. He knew he couldn't get you out, so he made sure you'd make it." And there it was again, the ache that was trying to take her over. Stefan was gone, and his last act had been to make sure she would come through it. She didn't want to come through it, though.

"Damon—" Elena began, knowing that she had to refuse. She'd died to stop a monster, not to become one herself. And she realized that this was the perfect solution—instead of fighting the emptiness, learning to live her life again, she could pass on, as she should have.

"You don't want this. I know. But I've lost my brother. Don't ask me to lose you, too." He was still holding her hand, and he squeezed it. She could see the desperation in those beautiful eyes, for once absolutely clear and honest as they tried to make her understand without words the depth of his grief—and hope.

"I don't want to hurt anyone, Damon. I—I can't." She silently pleaded with him to understand.

"I won't let you," he whispered. "Elena, I can't—I don't know how to do this alone." He kept looking into her eyes as though she was his lifeline, his one last hope. Given what she knew about him, she supposed she might be.

But how many weeks and months—even years, judging on a smaller scale—had Elena endured as the noble one, the one who made sure that others would be okay? How much had she been willing to give up? Everything—she'd given up everything. She'd given up her friends and her brother and her life—first figuratively and finally literally. And what she wanted now, after everything, was to rest, just rest and be done with it all. She didn't want to go back to her life, to rebuild the town and be a sister and a friend, as though nothing had changed. Everything had changed. And most of all, Elena didn't want be anyone's savior, not anymore.

Elena tried to shake her head. Damon took it into his hands, stopping the movement. "No, Elena. You're not going to tell me that you want to die. You've tried that before. I didn't let you then, and I won't now."

His refusal had annoyed her the last time, too.

"Damon—" But he didn't let her make her grand plea. Instead, he bent down and brushed a light kiss over her lips, just a touch she wasn't sure had really happened. When he looked back at her, she knew that this wasn't a declaration of love or desire or anything but a warm caress, the only thing he had left to give her.

His next words were so soft she shouldn't have been able to hear them. She felt them, though, and it amazed her that she could feel anything. "Please, Elena. I need you. And I think you need me. Neither one of us can do this alone."

There it was, the choice; she could die alone now, as she'd planned, and go into that cold without any noble purpose to make it mean something. Or she could agree to live, to try, and neither of them would have to be alone anymore. Elena had been alone for far too long, and she realized that, just maybe, Damon wasn't the only one who needed saving.

With that knowledge, she knew what her answer was. At her core, Elena was a fighter; she always had been.

But there was one thing he needed to know. "I loved your brother. I still love him."

"I know." He looked at her honestly. "I'm not going to ask you for anything you're not ready to give."

"If I'm never ready?"

He smiled crookedly. "Not likely."

She rolled her eyes, and for a moment, the sunlit world wasn't dark. But the shadows and the loss quickly found their way back. Elena supposed they always would. Yet it wasn't up to her to destroy the darkness, not anymore. She was just a girl again—sort of—and she wasn't alone.

So Elena took the bag Damon held out and brought it to her lips. She didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but she knew she could face it when it came. For now, that was enough.

_The End_


End file.
